Biker Mice: Natural Frequency
by puppy dangerous
Summary: When Vinnie pays Charlie a midnight visit, she gains some unexpected insight into her friends.


_*note* This story has been edited for content. To read the unedited version please go to apple-bullet dot blogspot dot com  
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_Faster, faster, until the thrill of speed overcomes the fear of death! _

-Hunter S. Thompson

Above the city lights, there are stars.

Vinnie rolls over and looks at the dent he'd accidentally put in the wall. Cracks radiating out from a central point, like a spider web. For a moment a memory rises unbidden.

_They'd cut deep down into the bedrock, trenches a hundred miles wide laced with dams that filtered out minerals. First one, than many, intersecting into inland seas where great towers rose like sinister lighthouses, drawing up pure water and transporting it away between cracks in space._

He rolls out of bed in the darkness, landing softly on the floor, absently smoothing his pale fur. The air in the closed space is thick and stagnant. He needs to move, have space to breathe.

When he pulls the door to the disused storage room open, the bikes all rumble at him softly. Sweetheart edges forward to press herself close to his leg. He strokes her side gently, murmuring comfortingly as he settles onto the seat.

As always, she moves like a wild thing. He can feel her straining against him in the confines of the hall, wanting to race out into the open air. He shushes her into idle, muffling her motor until they are clear of the building. Then he releases her, letting her bolt out frantically into the near empty streets. Now she runs madly as if pursued, swinging tightly around corners and into alleys. He leans forward, urging her on until finely she softens, breaking into a lower gear and tilting her headlamp curiously into the darkness. At last she rolls to a stop.

Vinnie looks around and realizes she's brought him almost to the garage. The door is open, spilling a rectangle of light and music onto the still street.

Charlie looks up when he rolls into the garage. "Hey, Vinnie."

"Hey, Charlie-girl. Watcha doin?" He leans against his bike and looks down at her.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Charlie asks shortly, pushing her hair out of her face with a greasy wrist. "I'm working."

"Kinda late, ain't it?" Vinnie asks.

"Well, I spent all day with you guys. I gotta make money some time." She turns back to the bike she's rebuilding.

Vinnie sits and watches her for several minutes in silence. Feeling his eyes on her, she twists around. "Can I help you?"

"Just enjoying the view." Vinnie says lightly.

"You know, I have work to do."

"I'm not stopping you." Vinnie spreads his hands at her. "I can't help it if my good looks are distracting."

Charlie stands up, lofting a wrench menacingly. "I'll show you 'distracting'."

Vinnie laughs. He snaps his long tail around, grabbing the wrench and trying to tug it away. Charlie was expecting this and hangs on, stumbling forward a step. Vinnie grabs her shoulders.

"Easy, sweetheart."

Charlie is suddenly aware of how close together they are. He has a warm, slightly musty smell, a large animal scent that always vaguely reminds her of clean horses.

The moment spins out between them, crystallizes. And soon, like always, will shatter and fall away with a laugh and a flush of color. Charlie grabs for it, wanting to hold it her her hand, to somehow keep this forever.

She feels the almost imperceptible twitch of his tail as he starts to move. Something shifts in her, surges against her ribs with quiet desperation, struggles against her, finally wrenching free.

She lifts her chin, tilting her head slightly to the side. And Vinnie leans forward, and kisses her.

The wrench falls to the floor with a clang, forgotten.

Vinnie pulls away, his ears flushing pink. "Sor-"

Charlie reaches up quickly and puts a finger over his mouth. "Ssh". She drops her hand, feeling her mouth pull into a smile. "Do that again."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart."

Vinnie snags her shirt and pulls her close to him. One hand touches her jaw, tilting her head and kissing her more gently

Contacts open. For a moment Charlie feels an immense expanse of space, an inconceivable distance. Jittering, sun bright images flicker and solidify. Standing up high, looking down the sheer face of a wall so high that the martian mice scuttling around the base have the scale of their earthly namesake. A flash, the feeling of a turn, a jagged tear in memory that seals itself just in time for a bright explosion, the sound of voices, the rumble of a motor- then Vinnie severs the connection.

. He moves his nose lightly over her cheek and down to her neck. The question that had been rising in her mind fades away.

She reaches out and runs her hands over his body, ruffling his short fur as he nuzzles at her collar.  
Stepping back, he starts to unbutton the worn blue overshirt. He pulls it open and slides his hands underneath, fingers wrinkling her undershirt.

He slides his hands up her body and over her shoulders, the shirt slipping down her arms and falling to the floor. He runs his hands lightly up her arms, leaving trails of goosebumps, then back down along her sides.

Charlie takes his hand and tugs him toward the stairs.

Charlie steps through a door into dazzling light beaming down through tall buildings. The city, a mass of buildings connected to buildings, arching stairways, tall rounded spires that reach into a clear sky.

A young mouse is being tugged through the street by two city guards. They pull him up onto one of the wide landings. He struggles, and one kicks his legs out from under him.

Charlie realizes with a start that it's Vinnie, much younger and more fully clothed. He snarls at his captors.

"This mouse has performed an act of terrorism against our government! In accordance with the law, he will now be Reclaimed!"

Charlie sees now that two other mice are approaching, carrying something between them. She squints, trying to figure out what kind of device it is, when it moves and she realizes that it isn't a thing, it's a mouse. A small, thin mouse, so white she makes Vinnie look filthy. Though only a third of the size of the other mice, there is something distinctly old about her face.

She reaches out an arm so thin it may as well have been a skeleton covered with fur. Charlie sees that her hand is held at an odd angle, fingers curled under.

There is a murmur from the crowd. Forms are moving around the very perimeter, working their way toward the stairs. As they break free from the bodies Charlie sees that they are wearing loose robes, the hoods pulled low over their faces.

The mice stand and watch as three of the robed strangers walk up the steps and arrange themselves around the guards look at them, vague sneers on their faces, but don't interfere.

Charlie finds she can hear their murmured voices as one of the robed mice steps up to Vinnie and lifts a hand. Charlie smiles at the familiar rocky voice. "Blessed be thou who stray, for they are offered true redemption." He leans in close, his mouth must be at Vinnies ear. "Ride free, my son."

Then there is a flurry of motion. The mice tear their robes off, tossing them over the faces of the guards. One of them whistles and there is a rumble of motors, then a flock of bikes explodes into the courtyard, scattering mice.

Charlie blinks and sits up in the dim morning light, but the motors persist. Vinnie breathes gently beside her. She places a hand on his shoulder, feels him shift slightly then slide back under.

She hears the garage door rattle open and quickly dresses. She comes down the stairs to find Throttle leaning back against her work bench.

He pulls his shades down and arches an eyebrow at her as she enters. She feels herself color.

"Have fun?" He asks.

Charlie grapples frantically to find an appropriate answer, but draws a blank. Throttle chuckles.

Charlie busies herself with coffee to cover her unease. She comes in to find Throttle watching the news.

"Top stories this morning: Four have been convicted in the bombing of the World Trade Center," A perky blonde reporter says brightly as smouldering wreckage plays behind her.

"Throttle," She says suddenly. He looks up. "Something...happened, last night."

"Hmm." He the eyebrow arches again.

"Stop it, I'm serious." Charlie briefly describes the vision.

"Yeah, I'm not surprised." Throttle shrugs.

"So, what was that? A memory?"

"Something like that."

"So all that happened, then." Charlie says.

Throttle nods.

"That's how you guys met?"

Another nod.

She hesitates, then pushes on. "What's 'Reclaiming'?"

Throttle's ears pin back momentarily. "It's like...like wiping your memory. That's how they made people do what they wanted."

"You weren't really a monk, were you?" Charlie asks, a half smile playing on her face.

Throttle laughs. "Nah. Good disguise, though. Of course, it only works once."

Charlie finds her head suddenly full of questions, but the sound of Little Hoss shakes her back to the present.

"Morning, Charlie-ma'am." Modo says brightly.

"Hey, big guy." Charlie smiles.

Modo collapses on the couch beside Throttle and puts his feet up on the table. Charlie smacks him on the back of the head and he quickly removes them with a murmured apology.

Footsteps on the stairs, then Vinnie appears. "Oh, hey bros." He lifts a hand.

Throttle and Modo exchange a look, then turn their eyes first to Vinnie, then Charlie, then back.

"Awww, man." Vinnie sighs. "I'm never gonna hear the end of this."

-Fin-


End file.
